


November 2nd

by Lynx22281



Category: Supernatural
Genre: College AU, M/M, sad!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx22281/pseuds/Lynx22281
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s been dreading today ever since the Delta Pi Halloween party on Saturday when he realized that November had snuck up on him and Lawrence was too far away for a day trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	November 2nd

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself cry.

Tuesday, November 2.  7:46 am.

 

The dorm door closes with a soft click, signaling that Cas is heading out to his 8am _Intro to the New Testament_ class.  Normally Dean wouldn’t have heard him leave since his own alarm clock won’t go off for another half hour, but he hadn’t slept much last night.

                                                                   

Today is not going to be a good day.  The only saving grace is that he only has one class all day.  Though, it would probably be better if he had a full schedule to serve as a distraction. 

 

He’s been dreading today ever since the Delta Pi Halloween party on Saturday when he realized that November had snuck up on him and Lawrence was too far away for a day trip.  Even if it wasn’t, he doesn’t have a car on campus to get him out of town.

 

Roughly scrubbing his hands over his face, he chokes against the heaviness pressing in on his chest.  Fourteen years later and he still isn’t over the death of his mother.  He’ll never be over it.  The past six months have been especially hard going through his high school graduation and college move-in without her.  Without Dad too, but he doesn’t want to waste energy thinking about John Winchester at the moment.

 

This will be the first year that he hasn’t visited his mom’s grave on the anniversary of her death to give her the play-by-play of the past year’s goings on.  He keeps telling himself that it doesn’t matter.  It’s not like she’s really there under the gray granite headstone.  Life will get in the way eventually, who knows where he’ll end up after college, and he’ll stop going for one reason or another.  But, he’s not ready to give it up, not just yet. 

 

He can’t help it when he rolls over onto his stomach for a good, hard, ugly cry into his pillow.  He misses his mom.  He misses Sammy.  He misses Uncle Bobby and Baby and his bed and his room and Rumsfeld and the garage and the Skylight Diner and even that stupid stray tabby that hangs around the salvage yard, the one missing part of its left ear and all but a two-inch nub of its tail.  His misses Benny, Victor, Garth, Charlie, Chuck, and Lisa.  He misses the familiarity of everything he’s known for his whole life.

 

By the time his alarm clock starts blaring, Dean’s cried so long and hard that he’s got the hiccups.  He drags himself to the shower room, keeping his head tipped down to avoid anybody seeing his blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes.  After a shower, he gets dressed and drags himself across the quad to the dining hall to drown his grief in a huge plate of biscuits and gravy before heading to his math class.  For an hour he’s able to lose himself in the problems and equations on a test and hands in his finished exam before the class period ends.  Normally he’d be pretty stoked about getting out of class early, but today those are just an extra 15 minutes he has to occupy while he waits for the day to be over.

 

Dean drags himself back to the dorm, not paying any attention to his surroundings.  He can marvel at the wonders of college life (like the dude wearing a flower crown and a bright pink paisley poncho playing a _Wonderwall_ under one of the big oaks lining the quad) on a Tuesday that isn’t the second day of November. 

 

Back in the room, he tosses his book bag by his desk chair, bumping it into the desk enough that the screensaver on his laptop disappears to show a picture of him, Sam, and Cas dancing like idiots in Lawrence Park with sparklers and ice cream cones in their hands at the big 4th of July party.   Walking over to the mini-fridge to grab a bottle of water, he notices a neon green Post-It stuck to the door that Cas must have put there before he left for class earlier.  There’s a note written in his roommate’s precise script.

 

_Dean,_

_Meet me at the library at 4pm._

_-Cas_

 

He sighs before chugging down half the water in one go.  Tuesdays are Cas’s busy days.  His best friend has a full schedule with class at 8 and 9:30 and work-study in the main library from noon to 4 o’clock.  He can’t even depend on Cas helping keep him occupied. 

 

He could work on the English paper that’s due next Monday.  He could study for the Spanish test on Friday.  He could go to the library and do the listening homework for his _Intro to Music_ class.  He could do something productive like usually does on Tuesdays, but he opts to kick off his sneakers and jeans and climb back in bed in the hopes that he can sleep away the day.

 

Having a nap turns out to be a really good idea.  Lack of sleep the night before had only made him feel worse when he started the day.   He wakes up three hours later still a little blue, but without the weight of his sadness crushing him.  Feeling lighter, he heads off to the library with his Spanish book and the list of recordings to listen to stuffed in his backpack. 

 

Cas is working the main circulation desk when Dean walks into the library.  There’s a line, nine students deep at the desk, so Dean just catches Cas’s attention with a wave and heads for the stairs to the music library on the third floor.  He checks out the records on reserve for his class and a set of headphones before settling himself at an empty listening station.  All of the recordings are probably on YouTube, but there’s just something about hearing them on a record that makes them feel real.  Doesn’t matter if it’s Beethoven, Led Zeppelin, Mozart, or AC/DC, Dean wants to hear it on vinyl.

 

When he’s finished making notes on the major things to listen for to identify the composers by ear, he heads back up to the desk and asks if the library has a copy of _Abbey Road_.  The librarian quickly locates it from the reserve shelf for the class on British Rock. 

 

“Don’t get too many Beatles fans nowadays, especially ones who want to hear the old recordings,” the bushy haired librarian remarks with a fond smile as he looks over the album’s iconic cover art before handing it over the counter.

 

“My mom’s favorite,” Dean says with a small smile before heading back to his table with the record in hand.

 

He’s in the middle of _I Want You_ and color coding a table of irregular Spanish verbs in his notebook when he feels a light tap on his shoulder.  Pulling off the headphones, he turns around to find Cas standing over him.

 

“Hello, Dean,” his best friend greets quietly.

 

“Hey.  You done for the day?” Dean asks, flipping his notebook closed and turning off the record player.

 

“Yep.  Are you busy right now?”  Cas tugs the strap of his messenger bag over his head so it sits across his chest and frees up his hands.

 

“Nah.  I finished my homework for tomorrow.  The rest can wait.”  Dean pulls the record off the player and reverently slides it back into the cover.

 

“Good.”  Cas waits for Dean to pack up his books and turn in the record and headphones before leading him out of the library.

 

Dean figures they’ll head to The Bean to grab some coffee and just chill before going to the dining hall for dinner, but Cas takes a right out of the library instead of a left.  Spending time with Cas doing anything is better than dwelling on his mom’s death by himself, so Dean just quietly goes along.  They head to a quieter part of campus and down a narrow tree lined street.  The afternoon’s weather has that nice balance of clear skies and crisp air that comes with mid-fall.  Cas pauses at the gate in front of the 175-year-old white clapboard chapel that’s older than the school itself.  He pulls his vibrating cellphone from his pocket and answers it.

 

“Hey.  Hang on a second, ok?  We’re almost ready,” Cas says into the phone before hooking his hand around Dean’s elbow and ushering him through the gate, across the neatly clipped church lawn strewn with fallen leaves, and over to a bench under one of the big trees their school is famous for.  He hands his phone to Dean and nudges him to sit.  “It’s Sam.”

 

Dean furrows a brow and takes the phone.  “Hey, Sammy.  Everything ok?”

 

“ _Yeah, Dean.  Everything’s good.  I have someone here for you to talk to.  Switch to Facetime_.”

 

Dean pulls the phone away from his ear and looks down at the screen to see the shaky image finally still on a view of his mother’s gravestone.  Tears well up in his eyes and he feel Cas squeeze his shoulder before walking away to give him some privacy.

 

On a big sob, Dean croaks out, “Hey, Mom.  I have the world’s best little brother and best friend.” 


End file.
